As she got older, we looked for things on our own without the list, becoming more creative with what constitutes signs of spring—pill bugs under rocks, birds in pairs, animal tracks in the mud, skeletonized leaves, bones, hollow logs, lichen, the smell of compost, the river rushing with snowmelt.

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This game was a way to connect us with the changing season, to instill a deeper connection with the natural world and how it affects us mentally, physically and spiritually, to learn how to be naturalists in our ecosystem, to get outside, to spend time together, and to have fun.

Now that she’s a teenager with a busy life of school, jobs, internships, and clubs, and would rather spend time with her friends, our spring treasure hunt is less likely to happen, at least in a traditional way—now we hunt for prom dresses, senior photoshoot locales and colleges.

My own connection with the natural world has deepened immensely as I’ve aged and sought my own healing and relationship with the living landscapes. As a nature therapy guide and a nature intuitive, my connection is instantaneous. As soon as I step foot into the forest, I am at once in communion with the ecosystem. I am in communication with the trees, the river, the butterflies and everything around me as if I were a note in a larger symphony and I only had to enter the cacophony to become part of the music. This is something I teach others to do in my courses and my writing. This way of interbeing with the other-than-human world has brought me endless joy, calm, belonging, and magic.

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I still go on spring treasure hunts. This year, I noticed a robin carrying a stick in its mouth, a plethora of brown butterflies flitting in pairs, new willow buds, green grass poking through the dirt, the warmth of sunshine on my arms, a flowing spring, mud, a spider, two rabbits, a woodpecker pecking on a tree and a feeling of joy and promise.

Being in green spaces at this time of year, we immediately sense the feeling of renewal, awakening, fertility, and balance innate in this season. Allowing yourself to set aside a sacred time to simply absorb all the offerings of the natural world and join the symphony will bring you into concert with the blossoming and beauty of spring within yourself.

I invite you to celebrate the Vernal Equinox with your own Spring Treasure Hunt. I wonder what you will discover.

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Here is a spring playlist to get you in the mood:

Here is a guided meditation:

Experience yourself as a seed in the earth, gently pushing through the topsoil and blossoming into full bloom. This practice is great for grounding into the earth's elements and feelings of abundance and joy.

Full Bloom Flowering Yoga Nidra on Insight Timer by Johanna DeBiase

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Three feet of snow lines my trail as I snowshoe up a steep mountainside. The sun is shining so warm and bright that I remove my hat and sweater to cool down. It is midway between the winter solstice and spring equinox, and I can feel the liminal space between the seasons here. Pine trees laden with clouds of white snow drop their slushy loads in intervals that cascade from branch to branch like a sprinkling of dust up ahead. The air shimmers with the snow’s dispersal before it collapses on my head and I laugh at the joke. The sun’s reflection on the snow’s surface creates sparkles of glitter of the winter forest floor, revealing the spring yet to come.

This weekend is Imbolc. This is the midway between winter solstice and spring equinox. This means the days are getting lighter and winter is nearing its end in the northern hemisphere. The warmth is causing the sap to rise. The birds are returning north from their southern migration. The bulbs are cracking open beneath the earth and sending up green buds to the surface not quite yet ready to break through.

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Imbolc Reflections: Inner Seasons and Intentions

In this time of late-gestation, when the land is in a state of pre-birth, there is a moment to reflect on what is in a state of pre-birth in your own life. You might recall intentions you set at winter solstice and see how they are beginning to show up already for you now. Energetically, we might begin to check in with how we feel about the seasonal shift. In the winter, the desire is often to stay inside, sleep more and to be more introverted. But now we are moving toward spring, and you might feel a shift in yourself of wanting to be just a bit more social. Perhaps maybe yearning for more time with friends, a weekend retreat, or a night out at the movies.

Imbolc reminds us to slow down and be patient. Things take time. When we try to rush transitions, they often don’t go as smoothly as they might if we were to sit with what is and allow changes to reveal themselves on their own time. Listen deeply to the living world around you and allow situations to unfold without rushing forward into the future. The earth is taking its time coming into bloom and giving us permission to do the same. Trust that all will fall into place at the perfect timing for you.

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Living Seasonally: Honoring Your Inner Winter and Emerging Spring

By noticing the movement of the natural world around us, we can notice the movement within ourselves as we are deeply connected to nature. Living seasonally allows us to go through all the seasons with intention and also the between times, noticing how it feels to transition from one season to the next. As we are experiencing the seasons externally, we are also having our own seasonal adjustments within. You might not feel like you are ready for spring just yet. You might still feel deep in the winter and not ready for change and that’s completely fine. Other people might be feeling like they are bursting at the seams and can’t wait for winter to be over.

I am personally enjoying winter this year. I am enjoying the quiet and the cold. That’s unusual for me. This year, I’ve really been able to use winter to be more creative and as Imbolc rolls around, I feel now that I can share that creativity with others. Take a moment to check in with yourself. See if you’re feeling inner winter or if you’re ready for outer spring.

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Rituals and Ways to Honor Imbolc at Home:

1. Go on a nature treasure hunt or solo medicine walk, searching for the first signs of early spring, the spring before spring.

2. Catch every sunrise and sunset in a week and notice the two extra minutes of sunshine each day.

3. Start planning your garden and ordering seeds.

4. Take a ritual bath in candlelight, representing rebirth and new light.

5. Journal prompt: What seed that you planted in winter is ready to slowly unfurl into spring? How can you be patient with it?

6. Light a fire and burn what no longer benefits you.

7. Clean your house and cleanse energetically with salt, herbs, incense, etc.

8. Grains, seeds and milk represent nourishment for new life. Cook something simple with dairy and grains, like oatmeal with cream, fresh bread and butter, seed cakes, or a hearty soup. Or make pancakes with syrup to represent the rising sap. Share it with loved ones.

9. Do nothing. Put on some relaxing music and allow yourself to rest deeply, knowing that your restoration will ease the transition.

   Thanks for reading! Our Uncertain Future is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts about nature connections, seasonal living, off grid life and sustainability, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Well, the time is nigh.

As the holiday lights brighten the dark days edging toward Yule, AKA winter solstice, we can finally take a deep exhale into winter.

Firelight, dark skies, cozy early evenings with friends and family, snuggling under blankets, hot drinks, slow time, rest, creativity, intuition, quiet, listening, solitude, sweaters, fuzzy hats, walks in the snow, evergreens, stews—it’s a vibe.

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Seasonal Living

Living cooperatively with the seasons instead of fighting them is luxurious. Being in relationship to the living world outside my doors is synonymous with being in relationship to my body, my psyche and my spirit. I cannot dismiss the change in light any more than I can dismiss my hungry belly. Every part of my being is shifting with weather, hibernation, sunlight, temperature, foliage, migration. I long to follow these rhythms. More than follow but honor them. And I encourage everyone to do so.

Here are a multitude of ways that you can ritualize the change of seasons including, creating an altar, harnessing your creativity with a writing class, practicing a ceremony, listening to season-inspired music, yoga nidra and reading insights. I hope at least one of these things inspires you

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Our Uncertain Future is taking next week off for our own winter celebration. We’ll be back the following week with more seasonal writings, off grid guides and inspiration. Have a wonderful holiday season! We are so blessed to have you in our community

How to Create a Yule Altar

Creating an altar for the season is one of my favorite ways to honor the passing of time and to connect my interior space with the changes happening in the exterior world. Creating a Yule altar pairs well with all the other traditional holiday decor you are most likely accustomed to. This is my way of doing it; I keep it really simple. Of course, I don’t believe in buying anything for your altar. You have everything you need around you. If you do build a Yule altar, please send me photos or post in the comments below.

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Creative Winter Inspiration

Darkness is fertile. We plant our seeds deep into the dark earth so they can begin their germination. We float in the dark womb as we gestate. In the same way, winter is a time to germinate and gestate our creativity.

This 90-minutes class is divided into three parts. Part one honors darkness, part two honors the pause of the sun along the horizon at peak solstice, and part three honors the return of light. Intuitive EcoWriting uses meditation and embodiment practices to supersede overthinking that causes writer’s block. Have your journal and a timer ready for some generative writing activities that will get your ink flowing. Only $15.

Cozy Winter Solstice Ceremony

For people who want a full-on winter solstice ceremony with guided meditations, journaling, dancing, and burning stuff, this is for you. I love ceremony, as you’ve probably figured out about me. I used to do a lot more online. Fortunately, I recorded them.

This was recorded over Zoom in 2023 and is an hour and 45 minutes long. There’s time at the start of the video to prepare with information about what you need as people start gathering for the event.

Music includes A Long, Long Night by Crow Women, I Am the Beginning and the End by Dorothy Tsatoke and Web of Life by SnowRaven.

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Winter Music Playlist

Whether you’re baking, wrapping gifts, building a fire or going for a wintery drive, this playlist is a great companion. Absent of any Christmas songs, this playlist is pure winter inspiration.

Winter Solstice Ritual Yoga Nidra

Winter is a time for rest and quiet and what better way to do that than with yoga nidra. Yoga Nidra is a state of consciousness that can be used for deep relaxation, creating new habits, releasing old programming, or reaching states of spiritual awakening. This yoga nidra is great for life transitions or for any time you are ready to release what no longer serves you and renew yourself for new beginnings. Jump into the fire and from the ash, a new fire will alight.

Practice in savasana (corpse pose) with a bolster under your knees and a pillow under your head in a comfortable quiet room or sitting up if you tend to fall asleep. Get cozy, put in your headphones, press play and relax.

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Inspiring Winter Articles from Our Uncertain Future

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Upcoming Events in Taos Area with Johanna

The sunflowers have dropped their heavy heads and gone to seed. The frost greets each morning with a frigid predawn kiss, wilting the last remaining vegetables to black. The berries are frozen on their withered stalks. Trees are dropping golden leaves in the autumn windstorms. Everything is dying back.

Organic matter disintegrates and decomposes and returns to the soil. This is true for all things eventually. Everything will return to the dirt, including us. We will feed the maggots and worms on our body until it decomposes into fertile soil. The fungi and bacteria will disintegrate our bones until they crumble to dust.

This composted soil will create the perfect conditions for fallen seeds to grow again in the new season.

The Necessity of Death in the Cycle of Life

If suddenly all organic beings stopped dying, the soil would no longer be nurtured with rotting nutrients and there would be nothing to feed the soil and nothing new would grow again. Life without nourishment or newness would be dull and stale. Because of the beautiful cyclical nature of earthly existence, death is necessary for birth.

Autumn is a season for remembering the importance of death in our lives. Because the natural world around us is dying back, we cannot deny the inevitability of our own death. I hope when I die (at the age of 101!) that it is in autumn.

In the Tibetan Book of the Dead, meditating on your own death is encouraged. In this way, we can accept the impermanence of all things and embrace that existence is ever-changing. This is also meant to encourage non-attachment to material existence and instead to focus on the true essence of our own being, the essence that will transcend death, “the pure and luminous consciousness.” Death is not considered the end, but a new beginning, a new realm of existence.

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On Grief and Loss

But I don’t want my loved ones to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want my forest to burn to the ground. I don’t want my house to collapse to dust. I don’t want to grieve ever again.

I have been well acquainted with grief in my life. It wrenches at the heart and once it gets a foothold in there, it never leaves. Grief is a wound that heals but leaves a dark scar. No one who lives can ever escape the grips of grief. The longer you live, the more you will be forced to befriend it.

The human resistance to death is natural, of course. Losing what we love hurts, it hurts bad. No amount of logic about the life cycle can create a salve for deep grief.

But for believers, those we grieve are still with us in spirit.

Spirit Ancestors Across Cultures

In Japanese tradition, it is believed that after death, a person’s spirit continues to exist and may even become a protective deity, especially if remembered properly by descendants. In Shinto traditions, the souls of the dead are thought to persist in the world as kami (divine spirits) who can be called upon or honored through rituals for blessings, guidance, or protection.​

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As in eastern philosophy, neo-pagans and witches also believe that our spirits transcend our bodies in death to a new realm of existence. Amanda Yates Garcia says in her book Initiated: Memoir of a Witch, which I read this month in book club and loved, “To be a witch is to remember that the world is alive, that our ancestors walk beside us, and that we are never alone.”

Native American Chickasaw writer Linda Hogan says in her book Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World, “Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.” The living have the ability to sense the presence of our ancestors by quietly listening, to feel their encouragement, and recognize that our existence is shaped by their love and sacrifices.

There is an African proverb I heard that says, “The ancestors are watching; they are not gone; they live in our tears and our laughter,” which reflects the belief that ancestors remain spiritually present and continue to influence and support the living through our emotional experiences.

Memory Keeps Spirits Alive

I love to watch the Pixar movie Coco at this time of year. It takes place in Mexico on Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). 12-year-old Miguel accidentally finds himself transported to the Land of the Dead, where he meets his ancestors and learns the importance of memory and tradition. In the movie, a trickster character named Héctor says, “If there’s no one left in the living world to remember you, you disappear from this world.” This line stuck with me and reminded me of the importance of preserving our ancestor’s legacies and giving their lives meaning. It makes sense to take time to give gratitude to our ancestors for the paths they paved for us.

We would not exist without our ancestors. They opened doors for us, invisible and visible, to walk through, to become who we are. Our ancestors are still with us, looking out for us, and watching our backs.

Many northern cultural holidays (holy days) exist in northern autumn to remember and commemorate ancestors and those that have passed on, such as the pagan Samhain, the Mexican Day of the Dead, the Jewish Yom Kippur and the Japanese Higan. Now is a time to thank our ancestors, remember them and rejoice in the love they created, as well as to forgive those ancestors that made mistakes.

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6 Ways to Honor Your Ancestors

If your culture does not have a specific tradition of honoring the ancestors, you can connect with your ancestors in different ways depending on what interests you.

1. Learn more about your ancestry through a DNA test, history books, and asking your elders to tell stories about the people they knew in childhood and the stories, songs and traditions that were passed down to them from generation to generation.

2. Create an altar with pictures of people you knew and didn’t know, those you were related to and those you weren’t, that have passed and you would like to honor. Light a candle for them when you want to connect.

3. Cook a meal with all the foods that your ancestors would have loved and traditionally eaten and offer it to your ancestors by making them a small plate and setting it at their altar.

4. Host a Dumb Supper, a neo-pagan tradition of holding a silent meal where a place is set for departed loved ones and participants eat in silence as a mark of respect and openness to ancestral messages.

5. Look for symbols in nature that remind you of those you grieve who are sending you messages from beyond.

6. Meditate and use your intuition to call in your spiritual ancestors. Ask to connect with only those that come in love. Tune into the wisdom of what comes through.

Becoming the Ancestors of Tomorrow

One day, we will all be ancestors. This is inevitable and we want to be honored for our humble lives by the people we helped in simple and big ways, blood related or not. Honoring our ancestors is a way to honor the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

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“On Death” by Kahlil Gibran

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one…

… For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

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In gratitude for your consistent support for Our Uncertain Future and your commitment to our shared mission to seek sustainable, slower, collapse-resilient lifestyles outside centralized exploitive systems, below is a free Autumn Yoga Nidra audio download. This yoga nidra was recorded live, is about 75 minutes long, and takes you on a journey as an autumn tree, releasing what no longer serves you, drawing on all your resources and planting seeds for the months ahead. Yoga Nidra is done in savasana so begin by setting yourself up comfortably lying down in a quiet and dark space where you won’t be interrupted.

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Now is the time when our harvest is full and ready to be reaped, the sunflowers are rolling their heads downward to return their seeds to the soil, the leaves are shifting into dramatic capes of colors to prepare for their inevitable fall.

Change is happening. We can no longer remain who we were, and what we are becoming is yet to reveal itself

My tomatoes are ripening. My raspberry bush nods with heaviness. My zucchinis are bursting with their last bit of bloom. My goji bush is transforming from purple flowers to bright red berries. I hurry them inside, into cans, onto drying racks, filling our bellies.

We must trust that our bounty is full enough to help us through winter.

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The breeze is colder now. The mountains are creaking with the onset of early snow. I can not deny what is coming. The sun sets earlier each day as I wander the evening near dark, confused by the arrival of dimming light.

Change is happening. We can no longer remain who we were, and what we are becoming is yet to reveal itself.

This is all a metaphor, of course. Nature is our mirror. As the trees release leaves to conserve energy for the forthcoming quiet, we consider what we too must release. What have we carried for too long on our shoulders that needs to be shaken off? What burdens, emotions, relationships, jobs, items, have taken too much energy from us? We do not have room for them moving forward. Now is the time to draw inward with all our resources and decide what is worth holding onto.

Everything released now will be compost for something new to grow in the months to come.

Change is happening. We can no longer remain who we were, and what we are becoming is yet to reveal itself.

Autumn is a time of dark mystery. It can be scary, depressing, rattling. Or it can be exciting, profound, fulfilling. Maybe a little bit of both. Can you hold both sensations simultaneously within you in balance like the sun and moon balanced on a singular day of your entire existence? Can you find the inner power to be okay with the mystery, maybe even embrace the mystery?

Lines written in the days of growing darkness, by Mary Oliver

Every year we have been

witness to it: how the

world descends

into a rich mash, in order that

it may resume.

And therefore

who would cry out

to the petals on the ground

to stay,

knowing as we must,

how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?

I don't say

it's easy, but

what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world be true?

So let us go on, cheerfully enough,

this and every crisping day,

though the sun be swinging east,

and the ponds be cold and black,

and the sweets of the year be doomed.

from her collection, A Thousand Mornings

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Autumn Equinox Ritual

1. Make a list of everything you wish to release. Set a time for 7 minutes and don’t stop making the list until the timer goes off. Go wild. There are no boundaries to what you may imagine. The items can be internal, physical, global, local, ridiculous, scary, preposterous, absolutely anything.

2. Pick three items from the list and commit to take steps to let them go. Then burn the list.

3. Make a list of everything you have that you are grateful for. Again, set a timer, this time for 12 minutes, and don’t stop writing until the timer goes off. Push yourself to think of the tiniest things and the grandest things that you are grateful for. Utilize your five senses-touch, smell, sight, sound, taste. Consider your mind, body and spirit. (These two lists might overlap in places, notice if they do and give thanks for that too.)

4. Lie down beneath a deciduous tree and admire its changing leaves. Admire your own ability to change with beauty. (Optional: listen to guided meditation below.)

5. Read your gratitude list to the tree and then bury it in its roots to create compost for future abundance.

6. Stand on one leg beside the tree and find the internal focus and centeredness needed to stay there, first by looking down at the ground until you have mastered this, and then looking up at the sky and finally, closing your eyes. Switch legs. Use the sensations of internal balance to guide you into balance during this season of dark mystery.

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Two Free Spotify Playlists for Autumn

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Guided Meditation for Autumn Equinox

🍂 Below is a guided meditation, available exclusively to paid subscribers in gratitude. By choosing to support our work, you’re investing not only in your own journey of slowing down and reconnecting with nature, but also in sustaining the vision we’re building at Our Uncertain Future.

This 30-minute guided meditation will help you move forward into the new season from a place of deep relaxation and intention. Journey into the depths of an autumn forest at dusk, reflect on your summer season past and what you learned, and meet your animal guide who has a special message for you to help your autumnal transition. Perhaps have pen and paper ready to journal your experience.

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I am a firm believer in rituals. I engage in ritual all the time—the full moon and new moon, morning and night, seasonal changes, and time with friends and family are all occasions for ritual because I learned that these intentional acts of reverence give my life more meaning. "Rituals make the invisible connections that make life meaningful, visible," explains Casper ter Kuile in The Power of Ritual. Each ritual is a prayer to life, honoring and giving gratitude for the experience of living.

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Morning rituals are how we show up to our day. They set the tone for what is to come. No matter what we may encounter ahead, we have dug a strong foundation from which to proceed. My morning ritual seeks to solidify myself and my own energy so that no matter what comes my way, I will not waver or if I do, I will notice immediately and try to correct course.

My morning rituals are deeply rooted in my decades of practice that suit my life and what enriches me. I like this quote from author Becca Piastrelli’s Instagram post: “Ritualizing your life is simple… When you shift your perspective—sometimes just ever-so-slightly, even the mundane can become magic. This isn’t just about routines; it’s about living with intention and savoring our daily experiences. It’s about creating moments of connection in our everyday lives.” Our lives are already filled with ritual; we only need to add intention and care to shift routines into connection.

My Morning Ritual: A Daybreak Routine for Mindful Living

My bed is oriented to the eastern light and the specific shade of buttery tangerine that passes through my faint thermal shades shifts each morning with one miniscule northern or southern climb of the sun along the mountain peaks or one dark cloud. The weather, the season or daylight savings time all determine how early I awaken. I was not a morning person until I trained myself to be one.

How long I stay beneath the covers depends on whether the fire has been started yet, the day of the week, or how hard I dreamt. Sometimes I will keep my eyes closed to ruminate over quickly dwindling visions from my subconscious to notice how they made me feel and what information I might glean from them. Why was I in my childhood home? Why were my legs tattooed? When I do rise from bed and slip on my house moccasins, I make a tea blend with chicory, dandelion root, mushrooms, cacao and a splash of coffee to take outside with me to write my morning pages.

Writing Morning Pages to Clear Your Mind

I had stopped writing my morning pages during the pandemic and started again recently when a local group formed to process together Julia Cameron's famous book The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. (Of note, Cameron wrote this book while living in Taos in a small adobe house at the end of a dirt road.) Each week we met to discuss a chapter and aid with accountability. So, I began my pages again. I remembered how much I loved the ritual and how well it serves me and my life.

In case you are not familiar with the morning pages, the practice includes journaling 3 pages every morning when you wake up about anything you want. The purpose is to empty out your feelings, ideas, dreams, and questions, so you don’t have to carry them around all day and therefore you can allow more room to receive from the creative muse. You do not need to be a writer to do morning pages; they are for everyone.

Outdoor Inspiration: The Power of Fresh Air in Your Ritual

Some days I am short on time and write in bed but if I can, I prefer to sit outside in my front yard hiding beneath the gazebo in the summer or wrapped in scarves and heavy jackets in the winter. I can draw inspiration from my surroundings. Time outside in the morning is an essential part of my ritual. While sunning my eyes, I step away from my bustling psyche for a moment to see a whole world beyond always shifting like that morning light.

Cameron writes, “In times of pain, when the future is too terrifying to contemplate and the past too painful to remember, I have learned to pay attention to right now. The precise moment I was in was always the only safe place for me.” The outside world shows me that life is greater than little me, my worries or concerns. Amongst the sea of sage, before the towering rocky peaks, I am miniscule. Life is abundant. I can get outside of myself. I am the lizard, raven, finch, rabbit, bee. I'm the deep stillness of the cold.

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Gentle Movement: Starting Your Day With Yoga and Stretching

When my pages are complete or I'm overheated or freezing cold, I return inside and practice yoga. I go slow. Very, very slow. With no goal in mind other than to stretch my body out, I move in a way that feels yummy in my bones and ligaments. I often make things up as I go along because I want to get into that joint or that fascia to feel its soft boundaries. Slow stretching in the morning honors my body for all that it can do, honoring the temple of meat and bones that holds me all day long.

Add Spiritual Practice to Your Morning Routine

After yoga, I'm ready to meditate. I turn on a timer for 10 to 15 minutes and close my eyes. I am not attempting to clear my mind and tune out, but instead I am actively tuning in. Calling in my guides and clearing my energy field, I tune into deep spirit. For me this feels like a wavering starlight within and without enveloped in solidity and connection. Although this frequency is always with me, these few minutes are a time of remembrance.

Sometimes if a few days passed without my meditation practice because my life is too busy, I will actually cry when I return to it. My spirit tears up and asks, “Where have you been?” This is a touchstone, a slight tapping within. I usually start this practice with burning sage and end with pulling a card from rotating oracle decks, always the most synchronistic card to start my day.

Then, I sigh deeply, stand up and get to work.

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How to Build Your Own Morning Ritual—Tips and Ideas

• Take inventory of the routines you already have in the morning. Which ones do you want to keep? (Exercise, stretching, reading, etc.) Which ones do you want to get rid of because they don’t serve your best intentions for the day? (Checking your phone, scrolling on socials, watching the news, etc.) Which might you alter? (Say a prayer over your coffee, sing a gentle wake up song to your child, greet the sun with a stretch and a smile, etc.)

• Consider how you touch on all three modes of connection with self—mind, body, spirit. For me, morning pages are for my psyche, yoga is for my body, and meditation is for my spirit. But truly they all affect the other and overlap. What can you do to honor each one? Ideas may include: stretching, walking or exercise for body, journaling, gratitude lists, bullet journaling, reading inspirational writing for mind, and meditating, praying, breathing, burning incense, singing or drumming for spirit. What do you already do? You don’t need to start from scratch.

• Consider how much time you have or how much earlier you are willing to wake up. This may define what you are able to do. All three parts of my morning ritual together take about an hour—30 minutes of morning pages, 20 minutes of yoga, and 10 minutes of meditation. Sometimes longer if available. I wake up earlier to make room for these rituals.

• Try one new thing out at a time until that creates a habit and then add onto it, habit stacking until your morning ritual feels doable.

• Once you create your ritual, be flexible. Not every day is going to allow for everything. My days waver and while I try to do at least two of the three but always at least one, I can't always do them all. It doesn't have to be perfect, it belongs to you, and you create it and therefore modify and change it as needed. Do the best you can.

• Take note of how you feel after a month of shifting how you start your day. What changed for you?

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"The function of ritual, as I understand it, is to give form to human life, not in the way of a mere surface arrangement, but in depth," according to Joseph Campbell in The Power of Myth. Ritual is self-validating. We do not need others to appreciate us, like us, honor us, celebrate our lives with cash rewards, compliments, or follows. We can honor ourselves and our lives in every moment. In doing so, we don't need others to do it for us. We no longer need to look outside ourselves, only within.

I’m curious to hear about your morning rituals? Do you have any? What do you like about them?

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Nature’s Bounty and Brightness

We have entered the height of summer in the Northern Hemisphere. Can you feel it?

The sunflowers are in full bloom opening their bright faces to the sun at its zenith, bigger and hotter than any other time of year. Berries are ample on the vine. Animal sightings are prolific as they hop and scurry and hunt the abundant land. Humans are traipsing outdoors to dance, hike, swim and eat with family, seeking shade and companionship. Gardens are stuffed with overflowing zucchini, tomatoes and greens to share.

On Friday, August 1^st, we celebrate Lughnasadh or Lughnasa (pronounced LOO-nah-sah), a traditional Celtic festival that designates the beginning of the harvest season, halfway between Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox in the pagan Wheel of the Year.

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The Origins and Traditions of Lughnasadh

In ancient Celtic cultures, Lughnasadh marked the very first time in the year when crops like barley, oats, and wheat were ready to be gathered. To honor this turning point, communities came together to offer the first fruits, the earliest portion of the harvest, as a sacred gift. These first fruits offerings were made to the Earth, the gods, and ancestral spirits, in gratitude and recognition that the abundance of the land was not guaranteed. The offering was an act of reciprocity, gratitude and sacred exchange.

Lughnasadh was named for the god Lugh. In the ancient Irish tradition, Lugh was known as a god of many talents. He was a warrior, poet, harpist, blacksmith, healer, and magician, a being of brilliance and radiant power. Lugh’s foster mother, Tailtiu, was a goddess of the land. She loved humanity and gave of herself to ensure their survival. Tailtiu cleared the great forests of Ireland, working tirelessly to make room for fields where people could grow crops and build homes. But, after giving all she had, Tailtiu collapsed and died of exhaustion, her heart worn down by her love for the people.

Lugh, overcome with grief and gratitude, held a great festival in her honor, a gathering of games, feasting, and celebration to mark her sacrifice. This became known as Lughnasadh, a festival of harvest, of honoring what is given to us, and the effort it takes to bring things into being.

Leo Season and the Energetics of Late Summer

This story addresses the action needed to achieve what we desire (planting seeds) and following our passions whole-heartedly (cultivating crops), but it also speaks to the potential for feeling 'burned out' or energized to excess. I am reminded that not all harvest requires hard work. Nature is full of gifts that are free, unexpected, and powerful.

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Nibbling on blueberries in an alpine meadow or showering beneath a waterfall are examples of abundance in nature. Their sweetness is not dependent on our effort and is offered to us lovingly. We receive these gifts from Nature with gratitude and respect while remembering that they were given to us simply for our existence.

This year, I will be hosting women friends at my house in honor of the energy of this time of year. It is also Leo season (July 22-August22), another symbolic time of big energy as Leo is ruled by the sun and signifies confidence, joy, creativity and self-expression. We will have a fire to honor the sun and life force of abundance and share seasonal foods from our harvest or the Farmer’s Market. After drinking cacao, we will share what is on our hearts at this time of year and set intentions for the new season.

Rituals and Slow Living for Lughnasadh

There are many ways to acknowledge this time of year and to embrace the energy of the season in a way that suits you.

• Harvest a “first fruit” or flower from your garden or neighborhood and offer it to the Earth with gratitude for all it gives to you.

• Gather wildflowers and arrange them in your favorite vase.

• Go the Farmer’s Market and stroll around one time without buying anything, simply enjoying the scents, sounds, colors and bounty of the season. Make a second round and purchase items to cook a special meal for yourself or a loved one.

• Bake a loaf of bread or something seasonal as a symbol of harvest and infuse it with your wishes.

• Go on a nature walk and gather materials to create an Altar to the Earth with grains, grasses, fruit, flowers, rocks etc.

• Find a sunny spot outdoors and journal what you are grateful for in your life right now, starting with the smallest seemingly unnoteworthy items.

• Make sun tea by infusing fresh herbs like chamomile, lavender and hibiscus in a jar full of water and leaving it outside all day to steep in the sun.

• Declutter one area of your life where you want to make room for what is ripening—your desk for work or art, your floor for yoga or exercise, a corner for meditation, the kitchen counter for home-cooked meals, your closet for self-expression, etc.

• Meditate with this Full Bloom Flowering yoga nidra to ground into the earth with abundance and joy.

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Embrace, Receive, and Reflect: The Heart of Lughnasadh

Lughnasadh is about receiving with gratitude. Take a moment to reflect on all that you have created in your life through your efforts. There is nothing you must do now. You only need to honor this time and the abundance around you to be fully present with Nature, to slow down, observe, and be in awe of the sacredness of life’s smallest details. Simply acknowledging the seasons and noticing how they affect our lives is a beautiful way to connect with the natural world.

Where in your life are you being invited to shine? What personal harvest is asking to be seen, celebrated, or shared?

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A Poetic Invitation: Mary Oliver’s “Summer’s Day”

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean —
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Let the abundant, sun-filled days of Lughnasadh inspire you to slow down, pay attention, and celebrate nature’s generous gifts in your own unique way.

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I used to think it was strange that the new year began in the middle of winter on January 1st. I always wondered why it didn’t start in spring, like the astrological new year. Afterall, spring is when everything is new. New sprouts are peaking through the topsoil as the world heats up and the rains descend. With a plentitude of mild weather and fresh greens, most animals are giving birth, while others are awakening from hibernation. Shouldn’t this be the time when we celebrate a new year?

This made me curious as to why the Gregorian calendar, which is used by most of the world, has its first day of the year in January. After a quick internet search, I discovered that we have the Roman dictator Julius Caesar to thank. His reformed version of the calendar was the Julian Calendar. He chose January first as the beginning of the year because January was named for Janus, the Roman god of beginnings. Janus had two faces, one that allowed him to look back into the past and one that allowed him to look forward into the future. It wasn’t until 1582 that Pope Gregory VIII reformed the Julian calendar into the Gregorian calendar but apparently kept the start of the year the same. The Gregorian calendar is a solar calendar, as opposed to a lunar or solilunar calendar. But obviously politics and religion played a bigger role in choosing holidays than the sun. If we are to take the sun into consideration, perhaps the day after winter solstice would be the first day of the year, when the northern hemisphere of the earth begins again to orbit closer to the sun.

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After some contemplation, I began to appreciate the idea of the new year beginning in the middle of winter instead of in the spring. Afterall, the sprout of spring began as a seed deep in the darkness of the dirt without a hint of light. All of creation began out of nothingness, according to Stephen Hawking who said that nothing existed before the Big Bang. Hawking used an analogy comparing the time before the Big Bang to the Earth's South Pole, "One can regard imaginary and real time beginning at the South Pole. There is nothing south of the South Pole, so there was nothing around before the Big Bang." Before you create a piece of art there is only a blank canvas. Winter is like a blank canvas. Everything is dormant, quiet, serene. Nothing is growing. All has died back. And yet it is during this time that we can plant the bulbs of creation.

Ultimately, we all get to decide when we want to celebrate the new year based on what feels right for us. We may choose based on our culture, society, religion, or intuition. We may celebrate the new year for an entire week or month. We may celebrate multiple new years that coincide with our multiplicity of being and each one might hold a unique meaning. I like to hold off on my new year rituals until after January 1st and take time with them as I feel into the season. If you’re the type of person that creates goals, resolutions, words and such, consider allowing them to change and shift as the year progresses to suit your own evolution.

If a year is the time it takes for the earth to make one revolution around the sun, then we all have our own special new year to commemorate. Some people prefer not to, as aging has a terrible stigma in our society, but who would prefer the other option? I always loved my birthday and milked it for all it was worth, getting my family to do my celebratory bidding. This year I will be turning 50 years old. I am not big on parties anymore, neither for my birthday or for New Year’s Eve. Maybe because I don’t drink anymore, the idea of standing around making small talk bores me. I prefer rituals and ceremonies, anything from drumming to game night. Give me a costume-themed dance party and I’m there. Having my birthday in the middle of the winter when the world is quiet and I’m in hibernation-mode, is another reason I like to keep it simple.

I was born on January 22nd, only a month after the winter solstice. The sun was just entering into the zodiac sign of Aquarius as I began my first revolution around the sun. So, I am yet another example of something born of the darkness, on a cold winter afternoon. I enjoy that my birthday falls close to the Gregorian new year as I generally take that whole month from winter solstice to my birthday to prepare for the new year. In this way, the darkness of winter becomes a time to plant seeds for what I wish to create in the months ahead.

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4 Ways to Plant New Year Seeds:

1. Reflect on the year past, the good times and bad, the lessons you learned and how far you have come. Give yourself a pat on the back for all the changes you’ve been through and lessons you’ve accrued. Perhaps a pat isn’t enough, maybe buy yourself a gift.

2. Notice if there is anything from the previous year that you’d prefer to leave behind, such as bad habits, bad friends, or bad thoughts. Write them down on a piece of paper and safely burn them. Allow the fire to metaphorically transform them into something better.

3. Pick a word for the year ahead. What are your hopes, dreams, and intentions for the year to come? Do your best to find a word or phrase that encapsulates these goals and then keep it as an anchor as you move throughout the moon cycles. Are you staying on target? Has your word changed? I like to create a Pinterest board for my word. You can also make a playlist or vision board.

4. Are there any seeds like wishes that you hope to plant for the year ahead? Write them on a rock and bury them in the dirt (optional to add a flower bulb) to be nourished by the earth and prepped for growth.

Happy new year everyone, no matter how or when you choose to celebrate!

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Digging Ceremony

Perhaps you think of swinging a shovel as nothing more than manual labor but with intention, digging can be a spiritual practice.

In June of 2021, I participated in a digging ceremony called BE WITH in Abiquiu, New Mexico, led by artist and ceremonialist, Jesse Haviland, inspired by the short film Passage.  Passage was created by Iranian artist Shirin Neshat in 2001 in collaboration with American composer Philip Glass, who provided the music. The film is an artistic depiction of Islamic funeral practices. You can watch an excerpt here:

Prior to this time, I had never heard of a digging ceremony. Jesse is a good friend of mine, and I was honored to be invited to join her. Her impetus for the ceremony was an offering, a way to gift the world after so much loss during the previous year with the start of the Covid pandemic. Her themes were universal--healing, death, trauma, grief, emptying out and filling back up, as we do when we dig a hole for a new tree, filling it in with roots and backfilling the hole again. What have we been emptied of? How can we be full again? In preparation for the ceremony, I went on a solo walk and wrote this poem.

Digging #1

I went to the forest to meditate
And in meditation, I began to dig.
The soil dark, soft, luscious
Threaded with roots
Mycorrhizal roots
(My core is all roots)

The trees and their delicate transmissions
I didn’t dare to disrupt
So I dug around.
My pitted olive hands
Scratched at the dainty fibers
Overcome by connection:

Trees to trees
Me to trees
Me to earth
Me to everyone to earth to trees
I knew then what I came to bury
The old me

The old me was
Disjointed and disembodied,
Striving and unsatiated,
Confused and craving, 
always seeking outward.
Never enough.

I needed to bury her 
And say my goodbyes,
To thank her for all she had done
To protect me thus far
And let her know, it’s okay
You can let go now,
I got this.

And then I grew solemn,
realizing I live in a society
That perpetuates the old me
And all those like her.
And so, I buried that too.

And I vowed to make it my new path
To connect others with my new truth
That we are mycorrhizal roots
(My core is all roots)
We are all connected in a web
An all-nurturing, all-loving, always evolving web
Just below the surface.
We only need to dig a little deeper.

And I buried that vow too
But not the way we bury the dead,
The ending of life,
But as we bury a seed,
The beginning.

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Our first ceremony was a private rehearsal for the performance and consisted of just the five women that would be digging. We met on public lands near Santa Fe, circling up, our knees in dirt, we smudged, we prayed, and then we used our bare hands to claw away at the earth, throwing the sand back behind us faster and faster, clawing and tossing, clawing and tossing in the rhythmic patterns inherent to digging. Then the wailing began, raging cries, primordial yells as we tore at the topsoil and threw the dirt to the air, vehemently and more vehemently, a rage brewing in our collective song. Finally, it would subside, and we rested, collapsing atop each other, resting in the emptiness. We rose and danced, refilling ourselves.

 After I wrote this poem.

Digging #2

The clouds rolled in darkly.
We agreed to weather the storm.
We came here to dig.
We came to get dirty.
Which part? The feral and the free.

We are women digging 
pentacles and earth angels,
scraping with clipped nails,
Inviting the mother glitter
swaying breath in and breath out,
beckoning lightning bolts through our crowns.

Shrouded in desert,
we sing from our throats, from our guts,
Turkey cries and raven calls.
We sing into water and
Plant luminescent seeds.
The coyote howls in high afternoon
and we draw down the sun.

We dig to bury the old.
We dig to birth the new.
We are birthing from the earth.
Earth. Birth. Dig.
Earth. Birth. Dig.
Earth. Birth. Dig.

Weeks later, we enacted the ceremony again at Únashay, a grief sanctuary. This time we added costumes, musicians, altar building, processions and an audience. Witnesses were invited after to fill the hole with their blessings. The ceremony doubled as a groundbreaking for their new bath house.

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Digging our Land

This spring, while digging a foundation for our house extension, I remembered that ceremony. Our foundation took months to dig, including the greenhouse bed, but I found myself loving the hard labor, even in the hot sun, baking my skin brown. Push, lean, shift, lift release. Push, lean, shift, lift, release. Every muscle rocked in synchronicity with the action. I was a human machine; my body was a force strong enough to move earth. The load on each shovel seemingly minuscule, a pound of clay and sand, and yet the simple repetition added up to a hole, a garden bed, the foundation of a home. As I dug, my mind was lost in trance, my body was alert to each twitch of muscle and bend of bone. My heart was with intention to create slowly one shovel full at a time, to build a home.

I did not know then that this digging was practice for the ceremony yet to come. In the fall, moments after my elder dog passed away, we began digging a grave. In the shock of the moment, it felt like the only thing to do. How do we move our bodies in sorrow? How do we express our grief? Eric and I looked around and picked the best spot on the western edge of our property. I understood the therapeutic power of digging, and because of the ceremony we had done, I knew that digging was part of the grief process. So, I picked up a shovel, and I sang songs, and I wept and I dug deeper and deeper and with each shovel full, emptied my grief into the earth.

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We dig to plant seeds. We dig to build a home. And we dig to bury the dead. Digging represents the ultimate cycle of birth, growth, death and rebirth. In the Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, he writes, "To forget how to dig the earth and tend the soil is to forget ourselves.” [1] When we put our whole body into the force of moving earth for any purpose, we are creating a space within for remembering. Whether you are digging to bury a wishful seed or to put something to rest, digging is a ceremonial tool of transformation and growth.

Here’s how to create your own digging ritual:

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